In Which Some Bad Choices Are Made
by BereniceSnape
Summary: The Courier may be an irresistible sex god, or so he thinks


Night was falling over Freeside as Courier Six, sometimes known as Wobbegong Wes, arrived at the Old Mormon Fort. He pushed through the heavy doors, weary but buzzing with confidence. He had successfully seduced his sexy sniper sidekick, Craig Boone, just three days ago and damn did he feel good. Knowing he had seduced the Stonewall Sniper of the Wastes, he was confident he could convince that sexy little Follower scientist Archie Canon or whatever his name was to have a little fun with him as well.

So he had left Boone at the 38 for the night. Told him to have an evening off. Maybe a couple of days. Wes was feeling lucky, maybe even several days of pure animal instinct fucking sort of lucky. He stepped inside the walls of the fort, and sauntered past Beatrix to the tent where he knew Arcade spent most of his time. Wes had even dressed nicer for this encounter, polished his reinforced stripper outfit and put on some body oil. Put on a fake mustache. A sexy one. With his persuasion and this look Arthur wouldn't be able to resist him.

Ah, there was the lanky blonde. Looking trim and cool and untouchable in his crisp white lab coat and glasses. _I bet he's a real sadist_ , Wes thought excitedly.

"Armin! Buddy! How have you been?" Wes asked the platinum blonde bachelor.

"Ah. Courier" Arcade said, managing to sound both apathetic and irritated at the same time. "Back again I see. My name is Arcade."

"I couldn't miss a chance to see your gorgeous face again, could I, _Arcade_ ," the greasy man said, sounding sly and proud at using the correct name this time.

"Oh, joy of joys," mumbled Arcade. "Of course, how could you ever?"

"So, sexy, wanna fuck? I'm all yours for the night, maybe a few if you wanna do some marathon fucking. I'm up for anything, even a little bee dee ess em if you catch my drift," Wes said with a lurid little wink. He was a stud. There was no way he could fail here.

"No, please leave now," Arcade snapped, before walking the opposite direction rapidly.

Wes felt all the vital energy in his body drain. How could he have failed? Wasn't he an untouchable god of sex and persuasion? He gasped, feeling no air in his lungs, his legs wobbling weakly. He steeled himself, barely, before walking out of the Fort in a daze. Then out of Freeside. Through the Wastes. He kept walking til he was at exhaustion. Then passed out for several hours. Kept going. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Walking and sleeping in a state of complete shock.

Several days passed of this. Somehow he had avoided encountering anything worse than a few fire ants, which he had just run from anyways. He finally felt himself check back into his body when he found himself walking into Cottonwood Cove. He pulled the mark of Caesar out of his russack in a daze. _What am I doing here? Boone would kill me if he knew I was here without intent to kill legionnaires_ , he thought.

Yet his legs kept moving, he walked past the training troops. To the docks. To Cursor Lucullus, handing him the mark numbly. _What am I doing?_ his brain was screaming as he climbed onto the ferry. He was wearing more and more out of his daze as the hours to The Fort passed. But what could he do? There was no turning back.

When they arrived he disarmed himself at their instruction, and headed up to the encampment. The camp buzzed with activity, and so many virile muscular men stood in his gaze, their legs in full view. Lust. Yes. Wes knew lust. He held onto that as he approached Caesar's tent. As a Praetorian Guard let him in. He gazed on Caesar at last, who was in conference with several Legates. By conference, I mean they were stark naked and fucking. Caesar was mostly watching, lazily grinding his meat if you get my drift. It was big. God it was massive.

Wes was conflicted but his internal conflict was hard to hear behind the deafening buzz of his lust. The Legates and their hot bodies. So much muscle, dick - and Caesar on his throne, dom as fuck.

"Caesar," he rasped, his boner very evident in his current garb.

"Feel free to join us, profligate," Caesar intoned, and damn if that didn't make Wes even hornier.

He was torn, joining the festivities sounded so good, but that huge dick. His powerful pose on his throne. "Please mighty Caesar, let me put your weiner in my mouth," Wobbegong begged.

"Permission granted, profligate," Caesar replied, before dismissing the legates, and Wes fell on his autocratic anaconda with absolute glee. Wes had always loved giving a little bit if lip service if you feel me. Loved to play the skin flute if you see what I'm saying. He loved to suck some mad dick and could suck the chrome off a tailpipe. He made quick use of his johnson smoking skills on one of the worst men who has ever existed in the waste.

It didn't take long for Caesar to get close to getting his rocks off - he was old and Wes sucked dick like a champ. But something seemed off.

"Oh GOD PROFLIGATE I'M…" Caesar cut himself off with a long gasp, before clutching his chest and falling over. Wes' head popped off his rapidly softening dick with a loud pop that was incredibly audible in the tent.

 _ **FUCK**_ , he thought, _I have got to get out of here!_ Wes shimmied off the ground, and scrambled back into some decency, before coolly walking out of the tent.

"The Caesar does not wish to be disturbed," he told the Praetorian, before power walking off in a manner that was as innocent as a man like Wobbegong could manage even without murdering a man with his rusty trombone skills.

 _Well that's a story no one can ever know about_ , he thought as he got back onto the raft. _Shot him point blank in the face. Yeah. That's it._

And that, boys and girls, is how Wes killed the terror lord of the waste with just his knob bobbing skills.


End file.
